


Remember, Remember

by SecretNerdPrincess



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: All the hope, Angst, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty but with a side of hope, But first I break your heart, Christmas Fluff, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Garcy Secret Santa 2019, Happy Ending, Post Movie Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Who doesn't love hope, finale fix it, garcy, super slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:28:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22190308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretNerdPrincess/pseuds/SecretNerdPrincess
Summary: Garcia Flynn died alone on a beach in California, sacrificing himself to save Rufus. Lucy Preston isn't at all okay with this and sets out to fix it. But has someone beaten her to it? Is Flynn still dead or is he alive? Lucy doesn't know, but she'll do anything, go anywhere, to find out.
Relationships: Garcia Flynn & Lucy Preston, Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston
Comments: 22
Kudos: 113





	Remember, Remember

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyAllieLeigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAllieLeigh/gifts).



> This one's for LadyAllieLeigh for Garcy Secret Santa Christmas. Her prompt was either Lucy or Flynn thinks the other is dead. I took that idea and absolutely ran with it.

_May 15, 2018_

Lucy sat frozen on the steps of the Lifeboat while the rest of the team gathered around a bottle of Jameson toasting Garcia Flynn and his “sacrifice.” Staring at the file photo, she thought he looked animatronic, a robot designed to imitate the man who left her behind. Who saw himself as disposable, the team member no one would miss. 

She missed him already. 

“To Garcia…” Mason, the only one to call him by his given name. 

Emptiness followed in the wake of heartbreak, leaving her hollow, brittle. 

She wanted to shatter, to disappear into dust. The bunker faded away as she watched the future she hoped for dissolve into atoms. Gone before she was brave enough to fight for it. 

All the nevers hit her at once. Lucy would never hold his hand. Never get the chance to return the favor of coffee after a night of drinking. Never feel his lips against her own. Never convince him to stay tucked in bed with her during a snowstorm, making love while the world painted itself white. Never save the world together ever again. 

Flynn was gone. 

She’d never learn his favorite meal or why he didn’t like water chestnuts. Why he picked them out and pushed them to the side of his plate anytime they got Chinese. She’d never throw him a birthday party or fight about where they should go on vacation. She’d never warm her toes against his calves. He confessed his love in a letter and gave her no way to respond. He stole their future, refusing to give them a chance. Believing the journal from another timeline.

But they weren’t that Flynn and Lucy. 

What if her future self came back because she wanted to fix what happened between them? Maybe she missed Flynn as much as Lucy did. 

How was she supposed to live the rest of her life without him? Without his crinkly eyed smile? His dry sarcasm that somehow made everything better no matter how much worse things appeared. WIth Flynn by her side, she felt like they would win against Rittenhouse. Now she was supposed to what? Just go on without him? 

Over her dead body. 

She ignored the team, if she took the proffered shot from Mason as she passed him, she’d scream. Garcia Flynn was not dead. If he was, she’d save him. Damn the consequences. If he could sacrifice himself for Rufus, she could risk her life to rescue his dumb ass off that California dune. The file contained all the information she needed. 

And now she had autopilot. If Flynn could just get in the Lifeboat and jump to 2012, so could she. 

Just watch her. 

***

The bunker quieted as she crept from Flynn’s room where she’d taken refuge, counting down the hours until she saw him again. Lucy didn’t care about the life she supposedly had in this timeline. It wasn’t her life and she wouldn’t concede defeat just because that’s the story the universe wrote for her.

She chose Garcia Flynn. 

She was tired of fearing what might be between them, of worrying that Rittenhouse would bring back his family when they least expected it. First she’d save him, then they’d save their families. The rest they’d figure out along the way.

Step one: steal the Lifeboat. 

Made slightly more difficult when she found her way blocked by a Jiya leaning against the computer platform. 

“Things not so hunky dory in our brave new world?” She smirked, arms crossed over her chest. 

“Um, I um. I mean…I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Lucy tried to fluster her way into an explanation, but she was too tired, too heartsick to make much of an effort. 

Jiya pushed off the railing. "Flynn's a big man, you gonna carry him by yourself?"

“Are you here to stop me?” Lucy didn’t want to fight Jiya, but there was zero chance she’d let her friend stop her from rescuing him. 

Said friend rolled her eyes. “That’d make me a bit of a hypocrite, doncha think?” 

“Not really. We were always going to save Rufus. Flynn…” Lucy trailed off, wishing she’d trusted him earlier. How much would’ve changed if they’d fought on the same side from the beginning?

“We never really treated him as a part of the team, did we?” 

She stifled a sob, regrets choking her. “No, we didn’t. Not really. Not in any meaningful way. I always held back from him.” She remembered San Francisco and how much she would’ve revealed if he’d ever answered her.

_Why are you here?_

The scientist shrugged on her jacket. “For real though? This whole thing is jacked. I don’t know how we got to a point where killing Jess was an option, but I’m ashamed of us. Did I want to save Rufus? Absolutely. But we don’t give up on anybody. Everyone gets the benefit of the doubt for as long as humanly possible. And we just what? Up and decide it’s easier to kill her?” 

“I honestly don’t know.” The weight of what they’d done hung over her. “And I don’t know how to fix it. If I stop Flynn from killing her, she still gets wrapped up in Rittenhouse. Rufus still dies. We could try and get to her before her death, turn her into a sleeper for the good guys, but there’s no guarantee that works. We could end up in the exact same spot.” 

“Or we could get back and find that the team never got together. There are too many variables and no way to control them. I haven’t figured it out yet, but I will.” 

“We will.” Lucy pulled her into a hug, grateful she didn’t have to do this alone. She pulled back. “Why are you coming with me?” 

She smiled and turned for the Lifeboat. “I owe Flynn a hug.” 

***

 _February 11, 2012_ _  
__San Diego, California_

The chill night wind off the ocean blew right through the two women as they stared at the beach where Garcia Flynn should have been. The almost full moon beamed down on them, making it easy to scan the horizon in every direction. They didn’t see him anywhere. Not in the scrub brush or tall grass that lined the top of the dune, not at the edge of the water, not leaned against a piece of driftwood. They searched. He was nowhere to be found.

“Are you sure you programmed the coordinates right?” Lucy was confused. They’d landed within fifteen minutes of the recorded time of death. He should be here. 

Jiya rolled her eyes. “I know you aren’t serious, so I’m not gonna dignify that question with an answer. I double checked the navigation logs, we landed five minutes after him.” 

“And yet,” Lucy swept her arm in front of them as the moon danced off the waves in the distance, “he’s not here.” 

“That much is obvious.” 

“Well, where is he?” The first lightning bolts of pain shot through her brain as she tried to see into the shadows, expecting him to stagger over the dune into her arms at any second. “What does this mean? Is he still alive?” 

Lucy didn’t want to give up, but they were running out of time. 

“I honestly don't know. Could be. Seems as likely as anything. We’ll have to get back to see.” 

Jiya doubled over in pain and Lucy ran to her side, helping her back up the dune. They wouldn’t find Flynn here tonight. 

She gave one last look over the beach, any hope of finding him slipping away on the tide. They stumbled into the Lifeboat, barely enough time to strap in and input the coordinates for the bunker. 

***

“Did you save her?” Wyatt greeted them the instant the door to the Lifeboat opened. 

Lucy shook her head, utterly confused and still reeling from their trip. “I’m sorry, who?” 

“Jessica. Did you save her?” He gripped the bottom of the railing, frantic. Agent Christopher and Mason came running in from the kitchen behind him. “Did you find out what happened?” 

She looked back at Jiya, praying the scientist had an inkling of an idea of what happened while they were gone. They hadn’t interacted with anyone while in 2012. They hadn’t even seen another human for the fifteen minutes they’d been there. Had their mere presence in their personal timelines been enough to alter the past? 

“I’m just as confused as you,” she said through clenched teeth, sucking in the cool air of the bunker. 

That certainly didn’t bode well. 

Wyatt moved out of the way so that Jiya could get to the computers. He followed, explaining with frustration, “You went back to the night Jessica disappeared.” 

“Disappeared?” Lucy turned to Agent Christopher while Mason joined Jiya, hovering over her shoulder as she grabbed the keyboard. 

“Jessica Logan disappeared the night of February 11, 2012.” Denise hesitated, unhappy with the turn of events where her team members were out of sync, but focused on the mission. “The alarm sounded and we all came running, but you two had already jumped. We assumed you’d been up and saw where the Mothership landed and wanted to act as quickly as possible.” 

“We _will_ be having a talk about you two running headfirst into danger without proper precautions.” Mason gave them the glare of the disappointed father. “You’re lucky your heads didn’t explode.” 

Lucy felt like her head was going to explode. “Jessica didn’t die?” 

Wyatt could barely stand still. “What do you mean? You know that. The police never found her body after our argument that night. I’ve been searching for her for years now.” 

Flynn never killed Jessica. Jiya froze on the platform. 

“Where is Rufus?” She spun to face Mason, grasping the sleeve of his shirt. “Is he okay?” 

“Rufus is fine, Jiya.” Mason laid a hand over hers. “He’s in the shower.” 

Relieved, she refocused on the computer, noticing the alarm sounded only after they had already jumped. “The Mothership followed us to 2012.” 

“Wait,” Lucy’s blood turned to ice and she found it hard to breathe. “Emma was there?” She ran up the stairs, dragging Mason up and stealing his seat. “Tell me she wasn’t there.” 

Jiya scrolled down the screen, taking in the data and trying to fit it into what she knew. “The first moment Emma went to look for Jessica in the present, she would’ve known she disappeared while we were in 1848. She wouldn’t have known, however, the exact date of the change to the timeline. So when we jumped to the night of Jessica’s death, Emma must’ve figured she had the answer she needed and headed straight for her and Flynn.” 

“We were on the beach searching for Flynn when Emma was saving Jess.” Lucy wanted to scream. “So what happened to him?” 

Sadness flickered across Wyatt’s face. “He sacrificed himself the first time we tried to save Jess.”

Agent Christopher turned and grabbed the same manila file Lucy had seen hours earlier. She opened the folder, passing it up to her. “It took some digging, but a John Doe was found on the beach by Flynn’s house. We believe the time travel complications were too much and he took his last moments to see his family again. He sent the Lifeboat back to us here and Rufus went and picked you guys up in 1848.” 

The universe made Flynn a hero this go around. That was nice at least. 

“But Flynn didn’t die on that beach,” Lucy grasped at anything to tell her that he was still alive. “Jiya and I were there.” 

“Why were you there, if not to try and save Jess?” Agent Christopher asked. She’d figured out that the past had changed again while she was stuck in the present. 

Lucy sighed and rose. “I stole the Lifeboat to go back and try to rescue Flynn from the beach.”

“ _We_ stole the Lifeboat.” Jiya swiveled in her seat and stood up. “The longer story requires coffee.” 

***

June passed. Missions came and went. July melted into August. Lucy grew bleary-eyed scouring her history books for any sign of Garcia Flynn. She refused to believe the file folder. Even if the picture of him hadn’t made him look like a waxen statue, the file contained far too many errors. Starting with the fact that Flynn was six foot four. She knew because she liked that he was almost a foot taller than her. 

Jiya searched every database, running facial recognition programs to locate him in the here and now. If he was out there somewhere, between the two of them, they’d find him. 

Whatever had happened between Lucy and Wyatt in this timeline must’ve been short lived, because she’d been back sleeping on the couch, not sharing a room with him. It was fine with her. She’d always suspected he couldn’t let go of his love for his wife. And the way he threw himself into trying to find her knowing now that Emma was the reason she disappeared? Lucy had no regrets. She imagined that even if they’d have gotten together after Flynn killed Jess, Wyatt would eventually come to resent her for his wife’s death. 

If they’d have gotten together, it would’ve been knowing that Wyatt was her second choice. 

Since the first time Lucy Preston and Garcia Flynn met in front of the burning Hindenburg, she’d known their fates were intertwined. 

Flynn’s room became hers. It helped her keep him close. Laying in his bed at night, she closed her eyes and imagined him tip-toeing through the room. Saw him sitting in his chair, leg crossed over his knee, desk lamp turned away from the bed so as not to wake her while he read whatever book they found on their latest mission. 

On the darkest nights, the nights even his ghost refused to sit with her, she feared he’d be lost forever. 

She never stopped believing he was alive. 

***

_October 3, 2018_

The alarm sounded in the middle of the Netherfield Ball. Mr. Darcy didn’t even get to dance with Miss Elizabeth Bennet before Jiya paused the movie and ran to join Rufus on the computer platform, Lucy following close behind. Denise, Mason, and Wyatt came running from their rooms. 

Denise tied the sash of her yellow terry cloth robe. “What’s going on? Talk to me.” 

“New York City, February 3, 1924. Looks like the West Village.” Rufus glanced up at Lucy. “Any ideas?” 

She leaned down over his shoulder, squinting at the map. “Greenwich Village, more specifically. Prohibition is in full swing by that point.”

“You think Rittenhouse is trying to get in on the illegal liquor trade?” Wyatt asked from the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

Jiya shook her head. “What would be the point in that?” 

“Besides scads and scads of money?" Wyatt pointed out the obvious. "If they can make friends with Lucky Luciano, they can get in on the ground floor of the New York Mafia.” Rufus turned and gave him an impressed nod. “Don’t look so surprised, I watched a lot of mob movies growing up.” 

Lucy nudged Rufus aside and stole the keyboard, “That’s actually smart.” 

“What would that accomplish?” Rufus moved out of the way, jogging down the stairs two at a time.

Wyatt uncapped his water bottle. “Well, Lucky’s at the beginning of his consolidation of power at that point. By the Thirties, he’s well on his way to securing his place as the original Godfather. Imagine if Emma joined Rittenhouse and the Mafia together?” 

“They could guide every iteration of the mob for decades.” Agent Christopher crossed to the coffee pot. 

“There’s a speakeasy. What was it called?” Lucy scrolled down the page. “Chumley’s! That’s it!” 

Jiya pushed back from her console, leaning over. “What’s a Chumley’s?” 

“A famous speakeasy in Greenwich Village that became a haven for mobsters and writers alike. Hemingway hung out there.” She smiled thinking about the drunken jerk as she typed in a new search. “But not just Hemingway. Eugene O’Neill. Edna Vincent Millary. F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald.” 

Mason scrubbed his eyes, still waking up, and retrieved a mug from the cabinet. “Is this before or after _The Great Gatsby_?” 

“Ahhhhh?” Lucy typed in a quick search. “Before. Just before. Fitzgerald publishes it in 1925.” 

Connor waited impatiently for the coffee to brew, tapping a finger on his mug as he thought. “And if Rittenhouse takes them out before he writes Gatsby?” 

Lucy turned and leaned against the edge of the desk, falling into professor mode. “F. Scott Fitzgerald is the one who coined the Twenties as the Jazz Age. He’s what you would consider a generational writer. Someone who captures the spirit of any given period in history. Kerouac. Jane Austen. You get the gist.” 

“But, I can’t see why they’d go after either of them?” Wyatt started pulling himself together for the mission. 

Jiya and Lucy headed to the tables and Denise met them with steaming mugs. 

Lucy breathed in the rich scent, sipping. “The influence of literature is hard to quantify. There’s no way of knowing exactly who might be inspired by reading _The Great Gatsby._ ” 

“Either way, this Chumley’s sounds like a good place to start,” Agent Christopher ended the discussion. “Mason, prep the jump. The rest of you I want on the launch platform in fifteen.” 

***

 _February 3, 1923_ _  
__Greenwich Village, NYC_ _  
__Chumley’s Speakeasy_

Lucy tried to contain her inner fangirl. Jay and his Daisy, obviously over the moon for each other, cozied into the nook of their favorite table. The fireplace filling the space with warmth while F. Scott lifted his martini and fed Zelda an olive. The walls above their heads lined with the book jackets of the writers who passed their nights there, drinking in the dim light. 

An epic love story, their love burned brighter than the sun and it filled the room around them. No wonder they’d become icons of the Roaring Twenties. She’d been more than his muse, she’d been a phoenix, wings aflame, drawing his eyes to the light. 

“Okay, so how do we play this?” Jiya sampled her Old Fashioned, wincing at the burn of bootleg whiskey no amount of cherries and oranges could hide. 

Wyatt leaned against the bar, scanning the room. “I don’t see Luciano anywhere, but it’s early. Lucy, you and Jiya make an excuse to introduce yourselves. Rufus and I will take a look around. Keep your eyes peeled for Emma or Nicholas.” 

They split up and Lucy steeled herself to meet the couple she’d fallen in love with through the pages of _The Great Gatsby_. 

Jiya whispered as they wound through the tables. “It’s kinda like meeting Mr. Darcy in the flesh.” 

“I know.” She smothered her giggle and took a breath. They approached the table and both Fitzgeralds turned to greet them. “Pardon me, but are you Zelda Fitzgerald?”

“I am.” The woman extended a hand for them to join them at the table. “And you are?” 

Lucy slid into the offered chair. “I’m Lucy and this is my friend Jiya. I just wanted to say that your piece in Metropolitan Magazine inspired me.” 

“Eulogy on the Flapper?” Zelda lifted her martini and leaned into her husband. 

She picked up her martini, sipping to cover her nervousness. Meeting historical figures always sent butterflies through her system. It was one of the few good things about this whole life she’d fallen into.

“‘The Flapper put on her choicest pair of earrings and a great deal of audacity and rouge and went into battle.’” Lucy remembered reading everything should could about Zelda during her obsession with Fitzgerald’s novel. It was during her undergrad days when she dreamed of finding her one great love. She’d been such a hopeless romantic. “You gave me the guts to be brave.” 

Scott and Zelda warmed to them quickly and for the next hour they discussed Prohibition and literature and all the best speakeasies that the ladies just had to visit. The party grew when William Faulkner and Eugene O’Neill co-opted the next table over. Lucy found herself smiling for the first time since she lost Flynn. She wished he could be here at her side. He loved all the great writers and would’ve fit right into the conversation as it bounced around the gathered group. 

“Billy!” 

A man yelled at the bartender behind her. She lifted her cocktail and half turned in her seat, locating Wyatt. He gave her a quick jerk of his head to the end of the bar. Lucky Luciano. She studied the man as the bartender walked past the liquor lined shelves to meet him at the end. He looked like a young Humphrey Bogart. A door swung open behind him. 

It took Lucy several seconds to figure out what she was seeing. He wore a black bowler hat and starched white shirt with thin black suspenders, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He stood behind Lucky, stoic, the muscle behind the mobster. 

“Flynn?” The glass of vodka slipped from her hand, crashing to the floor. His eyes whipped to hers, but showed no sign of recognition as he dismissed her as superfluous and turned back to the conversation between Billy and Lucky. 

She started to stand and Jiya kept her seated, leaning close. “You can’t. You don’t want to blunder in there without knowing the situation. You could blow his cover.” 

“He’s alive.” Lucy reminded herself to breathe. 

“He’s alive.” Jiya squeezed her hand. “We need to stay put and let this play out. Wherever he heads after, I promise, we’ll find a way to get to him.” 

The phone rang behind the bar. “Not we, me. I need to get to him. You need to stay with the group. We still don’t know how Emma ties into this. This could be a trap so we leave the writers defenseless.” 

“I can’t let you go after him alone.” Jiya saw her friend’s desperation. She understood, but she couldn’t just let the historian go off half cocked. 

“You don’t have a choice, I’m going after him.” Lucy picked up Jiya’s barely touched cocktail, taking a hefty drink. “I won’t lose him again.” 

In the end, neither of them had a choice. 

“86 it everyone!” Billy’s voice cut through the noise of the crowd. 

In an instant, every single person in the room rose and raced for the exits, melting into bookcases that opened into hidden passageways, disappearing down a trap door in the floor that led to a tunnel underneath the building, slipping out the unmarked back door that led to Bedford Street. Billy pressed a button beneath the back counter of the bar and the shelves folded, the bottles of liquor shooting down to the basement. 

The crash of glass launched the team into action. 

“Jiya, you go after them, please. You have to protect them.” Lucy was torn. She knew the importance of every single person in the group, but they were talking about Flynn. She’d been searching for him for months not knowing if he lived or if Emma left him to die. 

The other woman gave her a reluctant nod, reaching out to grab her hand. “Go. Bring him back to us. We’ll see you at the Lifeboat.” 

Wyatt and Rufus met them as Lucy turned to race after Flynn. “Rufus, you go with Jiya, I’ve got Lucy. We can follow Lucky at the same time.” 

They split up, Lucy leading the way through chaos, following Garcia Flynn out the door he’d entered that led down a set of stairs into the basement. Several customers beat her to the same exit, slowing her pursuit, but she kept his black bowler in sight as they hurried through a storeroom filled with dried food staples stacked on old wooden shelves. One half of the customers split off, heading into a large walkin cooler, but Lucky Luciano and Flynn turned another corner that led down a second set of rickety stairs into an empty wine cellar. 

Lucky pressed in a brick in the wall in the far corner and a concealed door swung open, Wyatt and Lucy carried along in the wake of the dwindling customers. Billy waved them into a tunnel with a low ceiling, lights strung along its dirt walls. They ran in and out of shadow until the underground passageway ended at an alley behind a large metal dumpster that took two people to shove out of the way.

Wyatt and Lucy exited the tunnel to see Lucky take a left into an offshoot alley and Flynn continue running forward. 

Wyatt didn’t argue with her about going after Flynn. “Meet us back at the Lifeboat and we’ll regroup after we get a handle on what’s going on.” 

She ran, heels and all, after Garcia Flynn as he crossed the next street, ducking into the alley on the other side. 

“Flynn,” she yelled, her words drowned out by the passing late night traffic. 

Lucy dodged the cars as she crossed Hudson Street, he was almost a block ahead of her. She couldn’t lose him, not again. He made it to the end of the alley where it met the boardwalk lining the river. 

“Garcia,” her voice a strangled cry. 

He slid to a stop in a circle of lamplight, the river glittering to the shore of New Jersey on the other side. 

He pulled his gun. “Show yourself.” 

Lucy stepped out of the darkness of the alley already reaching for him. “It’s me.” 

“Me who?” Cocking his weapon, he kept his aim, stilling her steps.

A heavy boulder slammed into the pit of her stomach. “What do you mean, me who? It’s me, Flynn. It’s Lucy.” 

He cast a wary eye over the situation, dismissing her as a threat, and holstered his gun. “I don’t know who you are, lady, but I suggest you head in another direction.” 

“You should’ve known you never stood a chance in this fight.” Lucy turned to see Emma walking towards them. “Flynn, head back to the Mothership, you’ve finished your mission here. I'll be right along.” 

She couldn’t let him walk away from her. Not now. Not after everything she’d gone through to find him again. “You know me, Flynn.” She paused, terrified to say the words aloud. “You love me.” 

He stopped and looked back at Emma. “She’s the one then?” 

“Yes, she is.” The redhead enjoyed every second of Lucy’s pain as she scrambled to hold herself together. 

“Hmmm,” he said without feeling before pulling Emma into a searing kiss, their bodies molding together as Flynn’s hand ran down her side. “I missed you.” 

“I’ll see you at the Mothership.” Emma let Lucy watch in silence as he walked away with no sign that it mattered in the least that her heart was in tatters. She waited until he was out of hearing range before continuing her taunt. “I have some bad news for you. There was a bit of a mishap with your team’s little plan to kill Jess. That wasn’t very nice by the way.” 

“Go fuck yourself.” Lucy couldn’t move, rooted to the spot where Garcia Flynn left her standing. Staring after him as if he’d turn around and come back guns blazing.

The other woman ignored her, knowing she’d won this round. “I like the karma of it all. You let him sacrifice himself and in return he forgot about you. About all of you. Traveling into his own timeline and then staying too long, well, you know, complications.” 

“He will remember me.” Lucy refused to believe that Flynn had forgotten their lives together. 

Emma cocked her head to the side and shrugged. “Doubtful. When I told him just how your little team used and discarded him without a second thought. Well, let’s just say, it wasn’t hard to stoke that flame of vengeance inside him. You remember that version of Garcia Flynn, don’t you? The man who trampled history and left a burnt and bloody battlefield in his wake.” 

“He’s not that man anymore.” Lucy swallowed her tears, fueling herself on the anger that suffused her body. “Garcia Flynn will never forget me and I will bring him back. He is a hero and no amount of your manipulations will change that.” 

“Oh Lucy, you sweet deluded fool. He has no desire to remember you.” The redhead strode towards her, reaching out and brushing back a lock of her hair. “Do you know what it feels like to kiss him? When his tongue parts your lips and claims your mouth?” She ran a thumb over Lucy’s cheekbone, cupping her jaw. “Do you want to know what he feels like? How his fingertips drift down your skin, clenching around your waist to pull you close?” 

Lucy reached out to choke the woman, but Emma grabbed her wrist and kept her in place. “I will kill you for this.” 

Emma shoved her away. “One day soon I will have that man naked and writhing beneath me and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. I have the power of Rittenhouse behind me. Saving Jess and bringing Flynn to my side allowed me to secure my power. So I should thank you, I guess, for never truly appreciating him when you had the chance. You made it far easier than it ever would have been otherwise. You really should just give up now. I have your mother. Your father. Your great grandfather. And the love of your life. You’ve got nothing left.” 

Lucy was tired of being underestimated. Tired of losing people to the endless fight. 

“I still have the team and we will never stop fighting you. We will save Garcia Flynn and at the end, there’ll be nothing left of Rittenhouse but rubble.” 

“Good luck with that.” Emma spun on her heel and disappeared into the night.

***

The next time Lucy Preston saw Garcia Flynn, he burned down Chicago. 

“Flynn, I know you,” she pleaded as the flames closed in on them. “This isn’t you.”

He laughed at her over the roar of the fire. “Seems to me, you didn’t know me at all.” 

“I was scared. I admit it. I didn’t know how you felt about me until it was too late.” She moved towards him. Refusing to give up even as his eyes filled with ice. “But I know you. I’ve always seen the man you are beneath the anger. Lorena’s husband. Iris’ father. The man I--” No, this wouldn’t be the first time she told him. Lucy kept her hand to herself despite wanting to feel his solid in hers. Alive. Not a ghost. “That’s the man I’m fighting for and I’ll never give up.” 

“You’re too late. That man is gone. There’s nothing left of him, but vengeance.” A cold smile crept across his face and he slithered closer. “Guess you should’ve fought a little harder.” 

“I went back to save you as soon as I could, Jiya and I both did, but you weren’t there. Emma found you first. I’ve been searching for you for months.” A beam cracked above her and she flinched, but pressed on. He’d never again doubt that she loved him. That she’d do anything to save him. “You have to believe me.” 

“No, I don’t,” he said without an ounce of emotion. 

But when the ceiling of the old barn began to collapse, he threw himself over her and they crashed to the ground, tumbling out of the way. Flynn dragged her to her feet and sheltered her as they ran through the manic, dancing flames, bursting into the Chicago night, the sky painted blood red. Chaos reigned around them and they stood, staring at each other as the city burned. She had no idea what to say to save him this time. He turned his back and left without another word.

Every chance she got she tried to help him, to break him free of Emma’s control. Each time, he rebuffed her. In the wilds of Colonial Virginia. On the streets of Paris during the June 1832 Rebellion. In Montgomery, Alabama on December 1, 1955. On the deck of a ship docked at the edge of the Boston Harbor. 

With each passing mission, she thought she chipped away at the barrier he’d raised between them. She held on to the shred of hope that one day he would get his memories back.

The team spent a quiet Thanksgiving gathered around the same linoleum tables where they’d been living for two years. Denise roasted a turkey and the team ate their fill of mashed potatoes before moving to the living room to watch old movies. 

“ _It Happened One Night_ ,” Lucy answered when Mason looked for a suggestion. She remembered sitting next to Flynn, the comfort of his simple presence. His small gesture of an offered beer. The beginnings of a bridge between them. “That was his favorite.”

No one needed an explanation who she meant. They all felt his loss. 

The holidays plodded on, but nobody felt much like celebrating. Fighting against Flynn demanded a lot. Wyatt remembered him as the man who’d tried to save his wife. Denise as the man who slowly gained her trust mission by mission, never wavering from the right side of history. Mason carried with him the memory of the nights the two men played chess when regrets kept sleep at bay. Rufus knew that Flynn saved his life; Jiya remembered what it cost. 

Lucy’s heart hurt. She wanted to confess, to beg his forgiveness. Wanted him home. 

***

_December 23, 2018_

Eighty-eight days since Lucy learned Emma saved Flynn. Twelve weeks, four days since he turned his back on her and walked away. Ten missions. She’d only seen him on six. She pleaded with him on five of them, failing each time. Once he saved Rufus from lynching, she took that as a good sign. 

The television droned on in the background, playing _It’s a Wonderful Life_ for the third time in a row since she didn’t have the energy to get off the couch to pick a new movie. Tugging the burnt orange afghan over her shoulder, she curled onto her other side, pressing her forehead into the ancient seventies pleather. 

Flynn’s ghost hung around the bunker, haunting her, hurling accusations she couldn’t defend. Whenever she imagined him she saw him, happy, smiling, and for just a moment she allowed herself to revel in the sight, starved for any connection. But in her dreams, he stared right through her, dispassionate. As if he knew she’d always fail him. In her dreams, Flynn left nothing behind but scorched earth. 

“Lucy,” Mason sighed, taking in the full to overflowing coffee table, “you’ve got to stop this. It’s not healthy.” 

She flipped over again and took in the pile of history books stuffed with papers, stacks of legal pads with half-scribbled notes, the empty soda cans and candy wrappers. He started to tidy the surface and she sat up quickly, trying to block him. 

“Please don’t. I’m trying to figure out how it all connects.” She brushed his hands back when he persisted, grabbing a random book from the surface. Lucy scooted forward on the couch, reaching to shove away his hands, panicking. He released an encyclopedia to her tug and went for four inches of file folders. She huffed out, “Please stop touching things.” 

Connor Mason ignored her. “If you haven’t discovered Rittenhouse’s master plan for world domination on your big wall of crazy over there,” he jerked his head at the bunker wall covered in index cards and photos and copies of ancient maps covered with bright red Sharpie arrows that seemed to point in every direction, “you’re unlikely to find it in this stack of files about,” he turned the manila folders so he could read the tabs, “‘Roman Rule in Britain: Hadrian’s Wall’ or ‘The Rise and Fall of the Knights Templar.’”

She threw back the afghan and snatched at the folders, he refused to release them. “I’m the historian. This is my job. I have to be prepared for any eventuality. I’m not losing anyone else.” 

Mason dropped the pile of folders back on the table. “You have to stop this. It isn’t your fault.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lucy gathered the empty soda cans and walked away from the older man, heading into the kitchen to pitch them in the recycling bin. 

“You couldn’t have known what he planned to do.” Mason rounded the table and came up behind her at the sinks. 

Lucy whirled on him, but he held his ground. “How can you say that? Of everyone, I should have seen it coming. I knew he’d been looking for a way to sacrifice himself since he lost Lorena and Iris. I was supposed to protect him. To keep him from doing anything rash.”

“From what you told me, Flynn slipped out in the middle of the night and stole the time machine.” He let her flail about him, pacing back and forth through the kitchen. “He didn’t give you a choice in the matter.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. “I don’t blame him for that.” 

“You should.” Mason crossed his arms and waited for her wrath. She needed to stop caging it inside her and he was as good a target as any.

“You shut your fucking mouth.” She got right up in his face. Mason wondered if he’d made a mistake to push her like this, but if he didn’t, who would? He was the dad around here, it was his job. “If we had appreciated him more, made him feel like a real part of the team, this never would’ve happened.” 

She tried to escape his all too knowing eyes and he gripped her shoulders, not allowing her to look away. “That is all true. It does not change the fact that it was his choice.” 

“He left me,” she dropped her forehead to his chest, the weight of her loss overwhelming. The truth a heartbreak unto itself. “Of all the things he fought for, all the things he believed in, I wasn’t one of them.” The months of holding it in nearly broke her and she sobbed against his shoulder, her tears soaking into his blue plaid shirt. “I wasn’t one of them.” 

Mason rubbed circles around her back, soothing her the best he could. “He tried to give you what he thought you wanted.”

“He got it wrong,” she sniffed and wiped away her tears, refusing to cry when she needed to fight.

He tucked a crooked finger under her chin. “Seems to me that neither of you was very honest with the other. You should probably work on that.” 

She scrubbed her hands over her gritty eyes and pulled her hair back into a messy bun. “If I ever get through to him.” 

“You will.” He squeezed her hand and kissed her forehead. “Now, why don’t you try and get some actual sleep.” 

***

_December 24, 2018_

The jump alarm sounded and Lucy stretched in Flynn’s bed. She threw back the covers, slipping her feet into her moccasins and grabbing his hoodie from the rack by the door before joining Jiya in the hallway. Wyatt and Mason were already at the tables and Rufus in front of the computers. 

Agent Christopher got the coffee started. “Rufus, talk to me. What are we looking at?” 

“London, England. November 4, 1605.” 

“Guy Fawkes?” Mason perked up, elbowing Wyatt in his excitement. The soldier lifted his head and glared at him. Wyatt had never been a morning person.

“Maybe?” Rufus shrugged. “Means nothing to me.” 

Connor banged his head on the table. “Your American educational system leaves a lot to be desired.” 

“To be fair, Mr. Mason, they aren’t British.” Denise poured them mugs of coffee and brought them over, setting them in front of the two men.

“The Gunpowder Plot?” He looked back up at the man he _used_ to think of as a son. “Remember, remember the Fifth of November?”

Jiya scrunched up her nose, thinking. “Oh! Wait! I remember that one. Kit Harrington was in the miniseries. Didn’t he want to blow up Parliament for some reason?” 

“He did,” Lucy answered around a yawn. 

“He did,” Mason said at the same time and then felt justified continuing in the explanation since he was the only Brit in the room. “Elizabeth I outlawed Catholicism in England, but after her death, there were people who assumed James I would reverse that decision. When he didn’t, instead exiling all the Catholic and Jesuit priests, Robert Catesby--the _real_ mastermind behind the plot--decided to assassinate James I and blow up the Houses of Parliament.”

“As you do.” Rufus joined them at the tables. “So how does Guy Fawkes tie into all of this?” 

The resident Brit continued, “Fawkes was a gunpowder expert. The group tasked him with the actual explosion. He placed thirty-six barrels of gunpowder beneath Parliament the night before King James would reopen House of Lords after it’d been closed due to fears of the Plague. He was only discovered because one of the other conspirators wrote a letter to one of their family members that he should not be present at the opening. The letter made its way to King James and late the night of the Fourth, Fawkes was found in the cellar with the gunpowder and arrested. Eventually he was taken to the Tower of London, imprisoned and tortured until he revealed his co-conspirators.” 

“So every Fifth of November, England celebrates the failure of the plot to kill the King. It’s a big celebration with bonfires and fireworks.” Lucy woke up enough to actually start contributing. “I think we can assume that they want to help Catesby and Fawkes, but why? What would Rittenhouse accomplish by taking out Parliament?” 

Denise leaned against the sink. “There’d be a huge power vacuum in England if they had succeeded. Did Catesby have a plan for that?” 

“King James daughter, Elizabeth, who was nine years old at the time,” Mason answered, considering the larger question. “Could it be that Rittenhouse wants to take over the Houses of Parliament and hence England? With a child on the throne, they could guide the country in whatever direction they want.” 

“Not too mention,” Lucy ran through the possibilities and every single one left her with a pit in her stomach, “if they gain a foothold in England, installing like-minded people into the ruling class, it gives them a foundation they didn’t have before. So that when David Rittenhouse creates the fledgling secret society, they’ll have a built in support system already in place.” 

Jiya’s eyes widened in alarm. “So instead of just being an American problem, it’s also a European problem.” 

“They’re expanding the operation.” Wyatt spoke, the coffee finally kicking in. 

The group fell silent, the enormity of the situation settling over them. If Rittenhouse succeeded, they’d be near impossible to stop. 

“They’ve been softening the ground,” Lucy breathed out, the pieces falling into place. “Rosa Parks. The Boston Tea Party. The Paris Revolution. It’s like they’re kneading the dough of history, prepping it for a much bigger change to the timeline.” 

Denise refilled her mug. “They used Flynn as a sleeper in 1924, right?” 

“It seemed that way.” Lucy stifled the flinch of guilt that she still hadn’t saved him. “He’d been working with Luciano before Emma pulled him.” 

“Don’t forget about Jess.” Wyatt rose and met Denise at the counter, taking the pot of coffee from her. “We know Emma saved her, but where is she? We haven’t seen her at all.” 

Lucy really didn’t like where they were going with this. “What are you suggesting?” 

Mason rose to his feet, unsteady. “They place their sleepers, who are outside the timeline and unaffected by any changes, in history. Waiting for the signal.” 

“But how would that work?” Sorting through time travel complications was difficult at the best of times let alone before eight a.m.. “We saved Rosa Parks. What good would it do them to place a sleeper there?” 

Jiya figured it out first. “Rosa Parks was only part of the mission. Like you said, softening up the timeline, prepping it for a bigger change. But they’d need people in place to take advantage of the larger change. So Rittenhouse built a secondary army of sleepers.” 

“Well, that sounds like tomorrow’s problem. Today, we have to to stop Rittenhouse from blowing up Parliament. Mason, I obviously want you on this mission.” Denise turned to Jiya. “I want you working up a plan for the sleepers. Figure out who or what they could be targeting. The rest of you know the drill. Launch platform in fifteen.” 

***

 _November 4, 1605_ _  
__London, England_

Lucy Preston followed Guy Fawkes as he crept past Westminster Hall, the Thames lapping at the stones of the break wall. He kept to the shadows, leading her in circles to keep her occupied while Flynn slipped in the hidden door tucked into an alcove nearest the Queen’s dock. Emma had been correct that Lucy and her team would head straight for Catesby and Fawkes. It hadn’t been hard to split them up. Catesby and a fake blond Jess lured Wyatt away leaving Rufus and Mason to deal with Emma and Nicholas. And, well, neither of them were fighters. 

Guilt tugged at Flynn as he watched her disappear around the corner. Though he may not remember the life he shared with the Time Team, something residual lurked in his subconscious, holding him back. Like saving Rufus. They were enemies, Flynn should’ve left him to die, there’d be one less person fighting against them. But the first time he’d looked into her eyes, when her martini glass shattered on the wooden floor of Chumley’s, he’d felt, what exactly? A connection? Like he’d found exactly what he’d been looking for? 

What was it about her? She abandoned him on that godforsaken beach as if he was nothing more than discarded refuse, a random plastic bag left to blow down the sand when the sun set and all the families went home for the night. She’d been willing to let him sacrifice himself to secure her happy ending. Let her have it. Lucy turned her back on him, what did he care whether she lived or died? 

Emma saved him when Lucy walked away, promising to help Flynn find out who killed Lorena and Iris. He may not be the man he’d been four years ago, the man who stayed home from work on the first sunny day of spring to push Iris on the swings in the backyard; the man who never stayed one minute later at work than he had to; the man who’d wanted for nothing in his life. Even without his full memory, Flynn knew that man was gone. One historian with warm brown eyes couldn’t change his past. It was too late for him. 

Never mind the confusing bond he shared with her. Never mind the tug of his heart when she risked her life trying to reach him, thinking she could somehow bring his memory back with the right combination of words. Never mind that he yearned for something as simple as holding her hand. None of these things mattered anymore. 

Emma could have left him to die. Instead, she’d brought him into Rittenhouse. Gave him a mission and promised to save his family. Who was Lucy Preston to him in the face of that? What could she possibly offer him? 

Nothing. She had nothing he wanted or needed. He was too broken for love or companionship, or even friendship anyway. He’d buried the Garcia he’d been so deeply he doubted he’d ever find himself again. If he died at the end of it all, it would be a mercy, a relief. 

The door to the cellar closed behind him and he inched along, dipping into and out of the alcoves that lined the hallway. Iron torch holders hung in the nooks, but the light barely reached beyond a wan circle, making it easy to slip through the shadows without being seen. His soft soled boots scuffed against the uneven stone floor and he reached for the rough brick wall to steady his steps in the dark. 

Flynn’s heart pounded as he approached the doorway to the room beneath the center of Westminster Hall, directly beneath the Houses of Parliament. Guy assured him everything was ready to go. He only had to light the fuse, or the long match as Fawkes called it. Did he want to kill King James and the Parliament? Not personally, but it was a necessary sacrifice. He may not agree with Rittenhouse’s plans, but he didn’t have to agree. He’d been a soldier, he knew better than to ask questions. He just had to light the fuse and run like hell. 

Lorena and Iris’ lives hung in the balance. 

He ducked into the low ceilinged room, moving to check the pile of firewood that hid the gunpowder, the fuse sticking out from a barrel farther back. Once one barrel caught and exploded, the rest would follow. Everything looked to be in place. It was simply a matter of waiting now. If all went according to plan, Emma and Nicholas would keep the others occupied while Fawkes ran Lucy around London. By the time she realized she’d been led on a wild goose chase, it’d be too late to stop the plan. 

Suffolk, Monteagle, and Whynniard, good Protestants loyal to and sent by the King to foil the plot, would find him at any moment and question him about the pile of firewood. Later, King James would send Thomas Knyvet and he would return with the three men. At that point, it’d be down to Flynn to do what he was good at, taking out the enemy so they couldn’t stand in the way. One day he’d lay down his gun forever, but for now, he’d do what needed to be done. 

***

Lucy figured out she was being led around in circles after the third time they passed the Jewel Tower. Emma and her crew split the team up, keeping them occupied while she slotted her pieces into place. She needed to find where Fawkes hid the gunpowder. Stopping the explosion mattered more than anything else. She considered going to the King’s advisors, but one of the conspirators already warned Baron Monteagle about the plot, anything information she divulged would more than likely be ignored given her gender and suspicious accent. 

She slowed her steps, distancing herself from Fawkes as he continued past Westminster Abbey, and sliding into the shadow of the squat tower that looked like a small fortress on her right. Very little was recorded about the plot other than the basics, who, when, why. Nothing about where in the basement of Westminster Hall she’d find the barrels. Doubling back, Lucy decided she’d find an entrance and go along from there. Fawkes originally planned to escape using a boat waiting for him on the Thames, so it seemed likely that she’d find the explosives located near one of the docks. It was as good a place to start as any. 

Turning the corner of the Tower, the darkness covered her, allowing Lucy to breathe freely. A moat rippled next to her as she worried she’d made a mistake when she left Mason and Rufus behind to chase after Fawkes. Even though they gave her the go ahead, part of her feared what could happen to them. What if Emma got her hands on them? Lucy could be stranded here in 1605 until someone came and rescued her. If they came and rescued her. 

Saving the world was the only thing that mattered. They couldn’t let Rittenhouse amass any more power. Who knew what they’d return to if the team failed to stop them here and now. Lucy set aside her fears.

Whatever the cost. She’d pay it. 

She skirted the small walkway between the Tower and the moat until she came to the edge of the Thames. Low murmurs bounced off the river as she dipped into the shadow of Westminster Hall, pressing against the cool stones to avoid being seen by the three men exiting the Hall. She didn’t breathe until they passed without spotting her. The splashing of the river covered her steps as she inched towards the small, hidden door they’d exited. The iron latch creaked as she lifted it to enter and she flinched waiting for the King’s soldiers to descend on her as she slipped inside. 

Dim torchlight lit very little of the long, wide hallway and even her soft-soled shoes sounded too loud as she crept forward. A smudge of light eked out of a room up ahead. Lucy reached for the weapon in her shoulder holster covered by a deep burgundy cloak. Using her long skirt to muffle the sound of the cocking gun, she realized whoever waited in the room beyond likely knew she was coming. Three more steps and she swung around the doorway coming face to face with Garcia Flynn. 

***

Lucy Preston looked terrified as she pointed her gun at him. Indecision warred in her eyes as he sat without a care atop a barrel of gunpowder. 

“You can’t very well risk shooting me, so you might as well put away your gun.” Flynn flipped open a Zippo and ran it along his palm, lighting it and holding the lighter between his thumb and forefinger, watching the flame. “I’d hate for you to accidentally blow yourself up in your rush to take me out.” 

He watched as she steeled herself against him, her deep breath as obvious as her squared shoulders. 

“This isn’t you, Flynn.” She returned her gun to the holster, deciding against shooting him just then.

He rolled his eyes, snapping closed the lid of the lighter and turning it over in his hand. “So you’ve said before. This is getting a bit ridiculous, Lucy. The definition of insanity…” 

“Is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.” He could tell she wanted to get closer to him, but held back. “I’ve seen the other side of you. I know the man you became before all of this.” 

“Before you turned your back on me, you mean.” Guilt flickered across her face and he flipped the Zippo open and then closed again, trying to ignore the emotions bouncing around inside him. “That man is gone. I don’t know how to make it any clearer to you.”

“I don’t believe you.” Lucy stood her ground. 

Sighing, Flynn moved aside some of the firewood, revealing the fuse. “I’m gonna blow this place up, there’s nothing you can do about it. You should leave.” 

“No.” She folded her arms over her chest and the movement seemed familiar, tugging at a long buried feeling he couldn’t name. The single lantern hanging from the wall gave the room an intimacy as she stepped forward, closing in on him. “Please, Flynn, I know you don’t want to do this.”

“I don’t want to, I have to if I want to save Lorena and Iris.” He backed away, shoving down the surge of emotions as Lucy reached for him. 

“I want to help you save them.” She looked so earnest, pleading with him. He could see how he might’ve fallen in love with her in another life.

“Like you helped me before?” he scoffed, hiding the crack in the armor he’d erected around his heart to defend against the life she so desperately wanted him to remember. “You let me sacrifice myself for your happy ending and then left me on that beach. If not for Emma, I would’ve died. Whatever she wants in return for helping me find out who murdered my family, I will do it.” 

“You didn’t give me a choice in the matter,” she bit out. The firelight reflected in her eyes as the color rose on her cheeks and she stalked forward. “You think losing you was my idea of a happy ending?” 

He met her in the middle of the room, only inches between them. “You had your soldier. Emma explained how you used me when it served your purpose.” 

“Do you hear yourself? Emma explained?” Lucy grabbed him by the lapels and tried to shake him. “Emma works for Rittenhouse. Rittenhouse murdered your family, the Flynn I knew would rather die than work for them.” 

Garcia Flynn stumbled backwards out of her grip, refusing to believe her. “That’s a lie.” 

“It’s not.” She didn’t reach for him, confusion written all over her face. “You stumbled upon a bank account in the Caymans and eventually traced it back to Rittenhouse.”

He shook his head, feeling the crack grow larger. “She saved my life when you left me to die.” 

“I didn’t leave you, I swear. I went back as soon as I could. You were already gone.” 

He backed up again, flicking open the lighter. “Stop. Don’t come any closer. I will take us both out.”

“We’ve done this before, don’t you remember? You were going to blow up a room full of Rittenhouse members in 1954.” She closed the distance between them. She dredged up the memory, hoping. “We’re all so caught up in our grief, in our past, in our pain.” 

She held up a hand and the image of her flickered. For a brief instant he saw her in a powder blue suit, standing in front of him, begging him to trust her. 

“I prayed to God for answers and he led me here to this.” 

She reached up and cradled his face, her thumb tracing over his cheek. He leaned into her touch feeling his past life beating at the walls of his mind. She hesitated, raising onto tip toe. 

“What if he led you to me?” she whispered against his lips. 

Led him to her. His Lucy. He crumpled to his knees as the memories rushed over him. She gathered him in her lap, holding him as if he might disappear again. He remembered standing in front of the flames of the Hindenburg as it burned the night they met. Remembered fighting against her for so long despite wanting nothing more than to be the team she wrote of in her journal. Remembered their first mission together and how she stopped him from damning his soul by killing John Rittenhouse. It was the first time she saved his life. 

She’d always fought for him even if he didn’t recognize it at the time. 

Rescuing him from prison. Bringing him into the bunker. Trusting him to have her back. He opened his eyes and she beamed down at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. Flynn reached up, brushing them away. 

He remembered. 

Saving her from the Puritan in Salem. Saving her from the sleeper agent in Texas. Lucy waking up in his bed after the night they shared the bottle of vodka; the night they became real friends. Riding on horseback through the South Carolina countryside during the Civil War. Holding her in the San Francisco alley. Confessing his love for her in the letter he tucked into the journal. Watching her sleep before turning away from her for what he thought would be forever. Ready to die to save Rufus, to give her the happy ending she so richly deserved. 

“Lucy?” He looked up at her, in awe of how hard she’d worked to bring him back. That she’d never given up on him no matter how poorly he treated her these last months. 

Her eyes searched his face. “Is it really you?” 

“It’s me, Lucy.” She sucked in a gasping sob. “It’s me, I promise.” 

He wound his fingers into her braid, pulling her down, pressing his lips against hers. Gently at first, but then the world faded away and they clung to each other in the dim light of the Westminster cellar. The last seven months of his life as a puppet of Emma forgotten the moment her mouth parted to deepen their kiss. He’d thought he’d lost his home, but he found it again in her arms, in the desperation he felt as she held him against her. She kissed him as if her life depended on it, as if he were the air she needed to survive. 

“I missed you so much,” she mumbled between kisses. “I never stopped believing in you.” 

Flynn sat up and they parted. “I’m sorry I left you. I thought it’s what you wanted.” 

“Never.” She kissed him again, leaving him no doubt of how she felt. “I was scared of everything between us. The journal--” 

“The journal has been wrong before.” He lifted her off the cold stone floor, wrapping her in his arms. 

She looked up at him with tear-stained cheeks. “I love you, Garcia Flynn. I should’ve told you sooner.” 

“What in the bloody hell is going on here?” Guy Fawkes stalked into the room, aiming a flintlock pistol at them. “It’s a good thing I came back when I realized this little chickadee slipped away. Otherwise, our entire plan would be for nought.” 

Lucy and Flynn pulled their guns. “Look, change of plans. She and I are gonna walk out of here and you can go about your business.” 

“I can’t let you just walk out of here. You betrayed us once, there’s no doubt you’ll do it again. I can’t risk the mission.” Fawkes waved the pistol indicating they should move to the side away from the barrels. “Sit down.” 

“Get out of the way.” Flynn cocked back the hammer of his modern revolver as he and Lucy skirted the wall, inching closer to the door. “We’re gonna walk out of here one way or the other.” 

“Over my dead body,” Guy said before rushing forward. 

When the man got close enough, Flynn slammed the butt of his gun into his head. Fawkes collapsed in a heap on the ground. 

He sighed, “Not your dead body, but I do apologize for the headache you’ll have when you wake up in jail.” 

They tucked away their guns and dragged the unconscious man over to the barrels of gunpowder, arranging him so there’d be no doubt of his intentions here tonight.

“We need to go. The King’s men will be here any minute.” Lucy tugged him towards the door, noticing the sunlight easing into the room. She didn’t want to risk being found here and separated from Flynn again. She doubted she’d let him out of her sight anytime soon. “Let’s go get the team and head home.”

It took some juggling to ferry everybody home and of course they had to rescue Rufus and Mason before they could head back to the Lifeboat since Emma had indeed found and subdued them, but when Flynn stormed into Westminster Abbey, Lucy wished she had a camera to capture their faces. 

She untied the two men while Flynn faced off against Emma. “Did you really think you’d control me forever?” 

The redhead sighed, backing up through the aisle between the pews. “It appears you got your memory back. A shame. You really were a useful ally, a vengeful and angry ally, but definitely useful. Plus, I enjoyed playing with you. Are you sure you want to go back to your merry band of buggered fighters? We could accomplish so much together.”

“I’d prefer to kill you if it’s all the same to you,” Flynn smirked, hating the woman standing in front of him. “After everything you put me through? I’d rather team up with David Rittenhouse himself.” 

“C’est la vie. Have it your way. At least you’ve served your purpose.”

The sun beamed in through the windows at the top of the nave as Flynn stared her down, prowling forward, debating how much of a sin it’d be to kill her on sacred ground. Probably not the best idea given his body count. He was trying to redeem himself, not dig his grave deeper. 

He took a shot, catching her across the shoulder. He figured God would be okay with that. 

“Emma!” 

Nicholas apparently thought it’d be a good time to appear and fire back at Flynn. He hit the floor in time to avoid any bullets, but by the time he pushed up, grabbing hold of the wooden pew to get to his feet, Emma was gone, rescued in the nick of time. 

One day he’d kill her, but today as he turned back to three identical smiles, he couldn’t regret not chasing after her. 

“We should probably go find Wyatt,” Lucy said, walking towards Flynn, hand already extended to twine her fingers with his. 

He winked, pulling her close. “If you insist.” 

“He likes you now, by the way,” she said with a straight face, teasing him. 

“Who, Wyatt?” He gave her a very confused look and she nodded solemnly, amusement in her eyes. “Well that’s gonna take some getting used to.” 

***

_December 25, 2018_

Denise and Jiya decorated the bunker while they were gone. When the team returned they were greeted by a thin, spindly fake tree covered in red and blue garland, silver icicles, multi colored lights, and a smattering of random pieces of the bunker turned into ornaments. Dark blue metal coffee mugs dangled next to bent spoons sprayed with glitter spray paint that clanged when you jiggled the branches. A string of popcorn and cranberries held old mission papers cut into snowflakes. At the top, a knitted angel handmade by Agent Christopher. 

Christmas tree lights dangled over the living room, the colors dancing over the space. Cardboard cutout snowmen painted white and Santa with his sleigh sat atop the television. Denise and Jiya had done their best to bring a little holiday spirit to the underground bunker. 

“Not that we’re not grateful, but do you celebrate Christmas?” Flynn asked, unsure of the traditions she might hold. 

Agent Christopher offered him a real smile, maybe the first he’d ever received from her. “No, as a Hindu, my family celebrates Divali. It means ‘row of lights’ and it’s traditionally observed at the end of October. I did bring a set of Diva lamps.” She gestured to the small line of earthenware lights lined up on the ledge behind the television. “They’re usually displayed on the windowsill, but as we have no windows, well, I did my best. But as the rest of you celebrate Christmas, I didn’t want you to miss the holiday just because you’re still fighting Rittenhouse.” 

“Next year we’ll celebrate both.” Lucy smiled to see their hodgepodge holiday that fit their eccentric little family. “Are there any stories to tell, like the Night Before Christmas?” 

Denise nodded. “Yes. There’s the story of Rama and Sita, the story of the triumph of good over evil. It’s about welcoming good spirits, like the Goddess Lakshmi into the home.” 

“I have a lovely idea,” Mason began, looking over the group, “why don’t we all get cleaned up and we’ll spend tonight as the family we are, celebrating one more win for the good guys.” 

A broad grin broke out on Rufus’ face. “Christmavali.” 

Denise smiled, turning to Rufus. “You all get cleaned up and bring any presents out to the tree, Jiya and I have been planning on a big Christmavali feast, but we had to wait until you were all back before starting the cooking.” 

“I feel like I could eat a horse,” Mason chuckled as his stomach growled. 

Flynn’s face wore a look of mock horror. “No. Horses are not for eating, Connor. You really should know that already.”

Everybody laughed and it felt right. The group split up and headed to their respective rooms, Rufus and Mason filling Jiya in on their fight against Emma and Flynn swooping in to save them. 

Lucy kept Flynn’s hand in hers as they walked towards his room. They slowed to a stop in front of the metal door. 

“It’s still your room,” she said, her voice soft, tentative. “I hope you don’t mind, but I moved in while you were gone. I wanted to be close to you. If you give me a minute, I can get my stuff together.” 

Flynn squeezed her smaller hand, opening the door and revealing a room that was a mixture of both of them. Her books lining the nooks in the wall next to his, a green knit blanket that wasn’t there when he left. Her moccasins tucked under the bed, his hoodie draped over the chair next to her long brown sweater. 

“Don’t.” He wrapped his arms around her, feeling her heartbeat against his chest. “I like it. You stay in here and I’ll take the couch.”

She reached to pull the door closed. “Your feet always dangle off the couch. I fit just fine out there.” 

“I think you fit just fine in here.” He brushed a lock of hair away from her eyes. “If you wanted to stay…” 

Lucy rose to capture his lips in a sweet, light kiss that spoke of days and nights to come. “I think I’d like that.” 

“I love you, Lucy Preston.” He threaded his fingers through her hair, holding her tightly against him. “I knew I was falling in love with you in San Francisco, but when I walked away from you in 1848 it felt like my heart was being ripped from my chest.” 

“Living with the idea that you died…” She crushed him in a fierce hug. “Please don’t do that again.” 

He bent down to kiss the top of her head. “I won’t. I promise.” 

Later that night they gathered around the tree, drinking eggnog and passing out presents. Denise knitted sweaters for all of them, even Flynn. She’d never revealed how much she missed the sarcastic man, but the fact that his sweater matched his eyes gave it away. Jiya unwrapped a Rubix cube from Rufus and she’d found him a book on Minecraft he’d been looking for that she’d ordered and had sent to Denise’s. 

Flynn handed Lucy a tiny box wrapped in burgundy and silver paper. “I found this in a little shop in New York City. I didn’t know why I bought it at the time.” 

She carefully peeled back the paper and opened a black velvet box. Inside lay a gold locket almost identical to the one she’d given to Fei in San Francisco. 

“Oh, it’s beautiful, thank you.” 

“You still have your photos?” She smiled and retrieved them from her pocket. She kept them with her at all times. She passed them over to him and he slipped the pictures into the locket, closing it and draping the long chain over her neck. “Merry Christmas, Lucy. My life is so much better for having you in it.” 

“I love you.” She leaned over and kissed him again, just because she could. It felt good. She stood and withdrew her present for him from under the tree. He unwrapped a first edition copy of _The Great Gatsby_. “There are more books in your room, I’ve been collecting them for you while you were gone. But I thought I’d give this one to you special since that was the mission I found out you were alive.” 

“I love it.” His eyes crinkled with his smile. Out of his peripheral, he noticed the big wall of crazy mostly hidden by the tree. “Anyone gonna explain what’s happening over there?” 

“That’s all Lucy. She went a little loopy while you were gone,” Jiya explained. They could laugh now that he was home, but the months without him were hard on her friend. 

“A little loopy?” Mason laughed. “She straight up went A Beautiful Mind on us. Sorry, but it’s true.” 

Lucy grinned, able to admit how far gone she’d been now that he was back home. “Well, I’d like to deny it, but the evidence is pretty much right there. So…” 

“You missed me that much?”

“We all did,” Jiya answered for her. “In fact, I have a little present of my own for you.” 

Shock he couldn’t hide rippled across Flynn’s face. “You got me a present?” 

“Well, I didn’t really get you anything, it’s something I’ve been wanting to give you for a while though. Get up,” she commanded and rose to her feet, moving the coffee table out of the way. 

He obeyed and looked down at the woman who barely came up to his shoulders. “Now what?” 

“Stand still.” Her eyes twinkled up at him as she wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him. “I missed you. I never thought I’d say this, but it wasn’t the same here without you.” 

He wasn’t ashamed to admit that tears sprung to his eyes as he returned her hug. “I don’t know what to say.” 

“Don’t say anything, I shoulda done it long ago.” Jiya pulled back and wiped away her own tears. “Plus, you saved Rufus from dying, twice technically, so I’m kinda grateful for that.” 

Wyatt rose and crossed the room to pull a bottle of Jameson out of the cabinet. “We did this once before when we returned from the Gold Rush, but it was a toast out of mourning.”

Flynn followed, retrieving six rocks glasses, crossing back to set them on the coffee table around a painted macaroni Christmas tree. 

“This time we toast to celebrate our family being back together,” Wyatt continued, nodding to Flynn as he filled each glass with a shot of the amber liquid. 

Lucy saw sadness flicker over Wyatt’s face, knowing he was thinking about Jess. “We’ll find her and bring her home too.” 

The team each lifted a glass. Mason caught each of their eyes, turning to Flynn last. “Garcia Flynn, when you joined us here in the bunker you were an even bigger outsider than I was, but when you were gone our family wasn’t whole. This is the best Christmas gift any of us could ask for. Welcome home.”

“To being home,” Flynn warmed inside as Lucy tucked herself against his body. 

They clinked their glasses together and drank, smiles all around. They might not have defeated Rittenhouse yet, but they would. They would do it the same way they would save the people they loved. 

Together.


End file.
